School's Over, 100th Post, And Zathract Mist Chapter 1!

So SCHOOL IS OVER.

FINALLY.

Year 7 is over and damn, this year went fast (in a really slow way [yes, it makes sense]). I know the year isn't over yet, but whatever.

So school ended yesterday, and I meant to post this yesterday as well, but when I got home, apparently there was this thing up at my Primary School, and my old friends were going too. So I decided to go and we stayed up there until 11, screaming at each other and running around like mad people, fulled by, uh, soft drink...
Anyway, point was, I had fun, and saw people I haven't seen all year, which was great. Our primary school was so small that I was friends with everyone in my year and the year below. Well, almost everyone. I knew everyone, at least.

Anyway. School's over. Yay!

And now, finally, I've finished the first chapter of the edited version of Zathract Mist!
So, just to get it out of the way here, I'll explain how I'm going to do this. I decided that instead of splitting this into three books, I'm going to split it into three sagas. First part will be the Vathrasi Saga, then the Nagier Saga, and then the Nixion Saga.
So, without further ado, here is Zathract Mist chapter one.

PART I

THE VATHRASI SAGA

1

ZATHRACT AND LILY

Jargon Darksahde and Heather Emancipate were murdered by a hooded man when Zathract Mist was seven years old, witnessed by him from the cover of a couch in the other room. Lily Spire had been five and had only heard the screams of her parents as they were torn apart.

Their house had been burnt down after the man failed to retrieve whatever he had tortured thier parents in search of, and Zathract and Lily had been forced to flee before any of the mortal authorities arrived on the scene. There had been no evidence whatsoever to suggest that the incident had concerned anything to do with the magical or supernatural. The bodies of their parents were lost in the inferno, along with any other objects they may have had that contained some kind of magical properties. Zathract did not actually know what kind of things their house may have once held.

Six years later, Zathract still continues to wake suddenly every morning in the dark alleyway that he and Lily now accommodate; gripping one of his daggers with his parents’ screams ringing in his ears. And this rising was no different. Something more than conscious thought rushed into his mind and Zathract instinctively sat upright, gripping one of his daggers with the air and pulling it into his hand. His eyes were narrow, his face slipped in an almost demonic snarl. Quickly realising that he had woken yet again to the happenings of the previous years, Zathract sighed and discarded the dagger to the ground before his hand cramped up with the fierce hold he had on it.. He pushed himself back a bit and leant against the filthy brick wall with his eyes closed. He was wide awake now, but this was almost routine for him these days. It used to be worse. There used to be yelling and screaming with each waking and tossing and turning while sleeping. But since, Zathract had managed to improve somewhat. He grew used to his new life and managed to distract himself from day to day enough from lingering on deaths and misfortunes that they had experienced.

Admittedly, Zathract had hoped that after this many years, he would have come to deal with this problem once and for all, but no. Every morning was still more or less the same.

He hated it. He hated that he still was forced to hear the screams. He hated that his parents were dead. He hated the hooded man that also haunted his subconscious every few nights. He hated the weakness his parents had had, that allowed the man to kill them. He hated that he had been left in this mess, left to look after himself and his younger sister for who knew how long. He hated that he now had to live and grow in a filthy, dark alleyway that now happened to be their ‘home’.

But then, Zathract hated most things. Zathract was just that kind of person. Having had lost his parents at seven and then lived out the next six years of his life on the streets, scavenging for food to keep both himself and Lily alive had shaped him as such. Considering he had to do this every day, Zathract figured it was a good thing that he was good at finding food. He also figured it was good that he happened to be a very capable fighter, considering he sometimes had to do some of that as well.

Zathract was currently an elemental, having learnt the main basics of it from his father at an early age. Afterwards, he had begun to teach himself to more advanced levels. He had a basic influence over water and air, and was never going to practice the Earth abilities, but Zathract was particularly drawn to fire. He felt that fire was an element that he wished to explore further in. And why shouldn’t he? Wasn’t a flame much broader in which to influence than a series of interlocking air bindings? Perhaps not. But Zathract had proceeded to add to his influence over fire anyway. And he was pleased to be able to say that, after six years of having a large amount of time to dedicate to this practice, that he had indeed advanced.

Zathract pushed himself off the wall and stood up. The sky was still half dark but the stars had already disappeared from it. Guessing it was roughly five o’clock, Zathract stooped down, grabbed the dagger he had dropped, and hurried down the alleyway. It was time to get the food he and Lily would eat for the day again. His sister was still sleeping in the far corner of the alleyway she had taken to, hopefully dreaming of pleasant things – or better yet; not dreaming at all.

Zathract was in a bad mood this morning. It can’t have been because of the nightmares and screams again, for he experienced them every night and every morning. He was just in a bad mood. Must be one of those days, he figured. Coincidence. But either way, he was still in this bad mood, and Zathract did not feel like waiting around for someone to trick, or to steal from. He wanted to get the food he need and get back to Lily where they could eat whatever scraps he managed to get. Where he could then continue practicing his elemental skills and fighting techniques.

So he walked to the next block and let himself into the nearest apartment block. He took a quick glance at the digital clock that hung on the wall. Half past five. Zathract lowered his gaze again and avoided looking at the security cameras that scattered the walls before stepping into the elevator. It didn’t actually matter if Zathract was caught stealing food on camera. Officially, he and Lily did not exist. They were presumed dead in the same fire that burnt down their house, he knew because he had seen a short snippet of the report a few days after the incident through the open window of a mortal’s home.

He randomly pressed the button to the fifteenth floor and let the doors slide shut, closing his eyes as the soft rumbling of the lift begun. There was no music playing, thank god, for Zathract hated the music that they played in lifts. With the bad mood he had today, he would most likely tear the whole thing apart until it stopped. Zathract was yet to find a genre of music he particularly liked. This may be because he had only ever heard a few genres, and all happened to be too slow for him. Zathract was aggressive. Zathract was not calm, and not patient. He couldn’t listen to things that were slow. They did not entertain him, nor appeal to him, and if any of them were meant to be particularly calming, they failed in that aim as well. To him, at least.

The lift shuddered to a stop at the fifteenth floor and Zathract opened his eyes, stepped out, turned left and headed for a door at the end of the corridor, where the security cameras would have a small chance of viewing. He tried the handle of the nearest door. It was locked. Of course it was locked… Fortunately, mortal locks were not much of a challenge for Zathract.

He took the small, steel pinHeHe He he had in one of his jacket pockets and begun picking at the lock until it clicked open, and Zathract stepped inside. The apartment, he assumed, was identical to almost every other room in the apartment block on this side. He had been inside one of these rooms only once before, but Zathract had a rather good memory. Not that it was particularly hard to find the fridge, of course, but it was always good to know where certain things were. Bedrooms and drawers, for instance. A certain drawerer of which happened to hold a sufficient amount of money inside it. Zathract didn’t know how stupid the mortals that inhabited this place had to be to leave their money lying around in bedside drawers, but he took it anyway.

Thirty dollars. Zathract figured it might buy them a decent meal when their new supply of food ran out, so he pocketed it.

He turned and left the bedroom, heading for the kitchen. Evidently, the mortals were out. Maybe at a movie, or on a date, though he could think of no reason why they would go to such kind of events so early. There wasn’t even anyone working at the reception of the apartments yet. Oh well. He didn’t care. Zathract opened the fridge and was greeted with a very large amount of food. He ducked down, looking for things to take back to Lily with him. He emerged thirty seconds later with three apples, two bananas, a few pizza slices, cheese, two loafs of bread and a can of Coke, all cradled in his arms. Zathract set them down on the bench next to him and frowned at it all.

This haul he had gathered was a lot more than he had been hoping for. Usually his methods of obtaining food were a lot more discreet and involved sneaking around shops and disabling security cameras. He would have liked to simply do something such as this once every week, but after a while, complaints would be read, footage would be reviewed and Zathract would become something that he had no desire to be. He had to be able to get food mostly freely. So he stuck to venturing into large places like this on very rare occasions. Hopefully, it would last them for a while. But for now, he would need a bag.

He rummaged around the cabinets for a while before finding a plastic bag, and he shoved all the food into it hurriedly. Zathract closed the fridge, grabbed the bag, made sure he had the money, and exited the room again, closing the door behind him.

***

­Zathact returned half an hour later to their alleyway to see Lily was sitting up in her corner, curled in a ball. He didn’t ask if anything was wrong. Lily often assumed this position. If she was hungry, she would sit like this. If she was scared, she would sit like this. If she was bored, she would sit like this. If she was thinking, she would sit like this. Lily pretty much sat like unless she actually had anything to do. And she rarely had much to do.

Zathract’s younger sister wore old jeans and a simple black shirt. Her hair was brown and had black boots. He and Lily both had a rather average build, but their muscles, most particularly his, were exercised and strong. Where her hair fell to midway down her back, Zathract’s hair was cut roughly at shoulder length. It was long, straight and black. He wore black pants, a black shirt and a black leather jacket. He had stolen all of these, of course. Most of the things Zathract and Lily owned had been stolen.

They refused to go to a foster home or an orphanage, simply because it would mean either committing themselves wholly to the mortal world or revealing to their new caregivers that magic existed. Neither of them liked either of these options. They would have found a sorcerer to take them to the Sanctuary that Jargon Darkshade had talked of when they were little, but they were unable to find one, and they figured that they would have to openly display magic in order to locate one. Which may even get them arrested, so that was also out of the question. Zathract and Lily would quite gladly go to the Sanctuary themselves, but they had no idea where it was. Besides, their lives weren’t too hard, all things considered. Sure, they lived on the streets, in an alleyway no one ever ventured down for some unknown reason, and they had to obtain everything by stealing, but it was a simple routine. It had privacy. These were good things.

Lily looked up at Zathract as he walked back down the alleyway.

“Food?” she asked. “Please have food.”

“I’ve got food,” Zathract replied, setting the bag down in front of her. “A bit more than you’ll be expecting. Don’t give yourself indigestion,” he added when he saw the look on her face as the bag was opened.

Lily didn’t even bother to reply. She grabbed an apple and sunk her teeth into it, cutting off the short conversation at once. Zathract didn’t mind. He was used to this, and Lily was used to it when he stopped talking suddenly. Their relationship was an odd one to say the least. They were brother and sister and relied on each other for survival. Lily required Zathract for food, and Zathract relied on Lily for other, less important things. She washed their clothes, she patched up broken punching backs and refreshed their water supplies. To be fair, they only had two sets of clothes each, and two punching bags, so these weren’t huge tasks, but Zathract also needed Lily to maintain his sanity. When he was angry Lily would talk him down, or else divert him to the punching bags. When he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, sleep at nights, Lily would notice and talk to him until he became tired. She always managed to find a topic that was new, but not painful to discuss, which he appreciated, but would never admit to. Zathract was also incredibly stubborn.

Zathract took an apple for himself from the bag and made his way to the one punching bag that was hanging by a thick black spike that protruded out of the brick wall. His fists were bare, but Zathract never wore covering. He never really had money to buy any, either. He punched the bag hard and it wobbled slightly, still stiff. His second fist sent it swaying on collision and Zathract continued to batter it.

With each punch, Zathract became angrier and angrier, but also calmer. Attacking the punching bag always did this to him. Yes, he became angrier, but he only channelled it into attacking the bag of sand in front of him.

Punch. His parents’ murder. Punch. The starving. Punch. Protecting Lily. Punch. The hunting.

He hated it all, and with each different angry memory brought to the surface of his mind, Zathract increased the power in which he struck the bag. It swayed violently as his elbows flew into it and his punches put in dents to the sand. He wanted to kill the thing that was not even living. He wanted to kill everything that was living. He wanted to kill the person who had killed his parents.

Punch. Die. Punch. Die. Punch. Die.

A fist blurred and struck the lower part of the bag and it sunk through the layer of protection and put a hole through the thing. Zathract stopped and frowned at his fist blocking the sand from spilling over the ground, then pulled it out and stepped back, deciding that he should probably start breathing again. He stared at the punching bag for a while, as he always did whenever he broke one. Then he shook his head, grabbed the apple and took a bite out of it, joining Lily at the end of the alley again while the sand poured out on to the ground. His younger sister had already devoured the apple when he reached her, and Zathract had only taken a few bites out of his. Lily looked at him, then the bag, then back at him again, and Zathract nodded, somewhat half-heartedly. She opened the bag and took a slice of pizza with ham and cheese on it.

“Don’t eat all of it yet,” Zathract warned her. “With any luck, this should last us a few days.”

Lily nodded and spoke with a mouthful of pizza. “Did you break another bag?”

“I did,” he replied.

“I’ll patch that up later,” Lily promised, and took another huge bite out of it.

Zathract nodded again and sat down beside the large rubbish bin, the place where he slept. Going to sleep beside a rubbish bin every night wasn’t exactly ideal, but living in an alleyway for six years had gotten Zathract used to it. The thing didn’t even smell anymore, for all the junk that once occupied the bin had now decomposed.

He finished off the apple and tossed the remains of it in the bin beside him. With that, he began snapping his fingers, playing with the flame that emerged while Lily went off to attend to the wounded punching bag.

And Zathract had expected that the rest of his day would be much the same as any other he had had for the past six years.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.